It's a Grand Night for Singing
by Nightvowl
Summary: Tara treats Pam to her idea of old-fashioned fun on their first date.


**Title: **It's a Grand Night for Singing.

**Pairing**: Pam/Tara

**Rating**: T

**Synopsis**: Tara treats Pam to her idea of old-fashioned fun on their first date..

**Disclaimer**: I own nothing more than the shirt on my back (I'm leasing my pants). Don't sue.

**Random Notes:** Tara's musical pickup truck is back and this time it's personal.

* * *

Pacing the office of one of her maker's many Louisiana homes, Pam was in the midst of a grave crisis. The world was descending into chaos, a newly deified pissant of a vampire had just resurrected from a puddle of his own worthless goo, and - to make matters worse - she didn't know what to wear.

It was seven thirty and Pam was now staring down the barrel of her first date with the sexy young vampire to whom she was bound for the rest of her immortal life.

No pressure.

Catching a glimpse of her hot pink laptop atop a small desk in the corner of the minimalist space, Pam resisted the urge to take one another look at the two-hundred tabs - one-hundred and ninety-five of them fashion sites - currently cluttering her web browser.

For the perfect outfit, she'd searched high and low. Embarrassingly low. Tracy Togs low. In what she considered to be one of the most shameful experiences in all of her many years on Earth, Pam ventured into the bigot's lowbrow boutique. Not only did she have to sort through a travesty of fashion, she had to listen to the bottle blonde shopkeeper go on and on about the object of her affections.

"_Where is Tara_?"

"_Does Tara ever ask about me_?"

"_You think Taras' seein' anyone_?"

"_It's been soooo long since I've felt that gorgeous cocoa mouth on me_."

Though Pam wanted to throw the obnoxious bitch clear into the next parish more and more each and every time she so much as uttered Tara's name, she endured in search of something…"_chill_" to wear for their date_._

Pam rolled her eyes at the mere thought of the word that was causing her to act like some forties Bobby soxer.

Sure, she'd been on dates before. In fact, Pamela Swynford De Beaufort had been on enough dates to last four lifetimes. She'd been wined and dined by diplomats, models, actors, actresses, CEOs, lords, ladies, and everything in between.

Still, Pam had never been completely in the dark as to where and what she would be doing with any of those wannabe Casanovas. She hadn't trusted any of them enough.

And as implicitly as Pam trusted her progeny, it was still disquieting not knowing what Tara had planned for them. She remembered one particular moment of weakness where curiosity and frustration got the best of her.

Rifling through a massive trunk of clothes, Pam was bombarded with possibilities.

Leather? No, too dominatrix.

Latex? No, too sleazy.

Corset? No, too gimmicky.

Chains? _Mayb_-No, too kinky.

Nothing Pam owned, and she owned quite a lot, seemed right. Slamming the trunk shut, she shot out of her cubby and cornered Tara in the living room of the house they were temporarily residing in.

"You know this would be a damn sight easier if you told me where we're goin'," Pam complained, increasingly irritable at the prospect of not knowing what to wear.

"What part of _it's a surprise_ don't you understand?" Tara drawled absently, not even bothering to look up from the book she was breezing through.

Pam quirked a perfectly arched eyebrow at Tara's bluffness, it was a trait she not so secretly adored about her.

"Just wear somethin' chill," Tara added, as if Pam would know exactly how her words might translate in an outfit.

Scoffing at the memory, Pam was brought back to her current predicament.

She had a date, she had nothing to wear on said date, and she was nervous.

Pam, of course, would never admit to being nervous, but she felt it just the same. As intense as Pam's feelings were for her new progeny, she barely knew her.

Outside of the confines of work and away from immediate danger, Pam was seeing the imprudent newborn vampire anew. She was seeing her as Tara, a bookish, introspective, and frustratingly old-fashioned woman.

Pam could hardly contain her surprise and disappointment, when Tara informed her that she wanted to "take things slow". In her hundred years as a vampire and forty plus years as a human, the flaxen haired beauty had never known anyone who wanted to take anything slowly where she was concerned.

As a young lady, men fell over themselves to take her hand in marriage. As a prostitute, men clamored to get beneath her petticoat. As a vampire, Pam found little had changed. That is until now, until Tara.

Tara was unlike anyone the well-heeled vampire had ever known.

And that was one of the many reasons Pam so wanted this burgeoning-whatever it was to work. The more she thought about Tara and her singularity, the more anxious she became. Questions and doubts rose at every turn.

Where would they go?

What would they do when they got there?

What would they talk about?

Aside from the fact that she hadn't attempted to have a real conversation in over one hundred years, Pam was exceedingly aware that she hadn't grown up in the nineties - well, not the nineteen nineties anyway- as Tara had. Her sources of reference were vast and varied, but she had no idea how they would or could mesh with Tara's.

Pam sighed heavily, increasingly overwhelmed by the fact that nearly everything she would have once deemed inconsequential now seemed to matter more than anything.

Just as the she was about to give in and check her laptop for the fifth last time that evening, Pam heard a tap on the door of the office. Before she could answer it, Tara was standing before her.

Her straight dark hair hanging haphazardly over her shoulders, she wore a form fitting cream-colored henley, navy blue utility pants, and black Chuck Taylors.

"Ready to go?" Tara asked expectantly, her eyes shining with excitement.

Placing a well-manicured hand on her hip, Pam tilted her head and regarded Tara with a staid look of disbelief. Her long blonde hair as yet un-styled, Pam was dressed in a fuchsia colored velour hoodie, shape hugging jeans, and ankle length boots.

"Unless you've planned for us to spend the evening in Super Save-a-Bunch, I don't think either of us is ready," Pam answered dryly.

"...I'll wait for you in the truck," Tara announced, completely ignoring Pam's snide remark. And with that, she turned on her sneakered heel and walked out.

There is no way in hell I'm going out like this, Pam swore to herself.

Thirty minutes later, Pam found herself in the passenger side seat of a beat up pickup truck, wearing the exact same outfit she swore she wouldn't go out in.

At the wheel, Tara was soulfully singing along with the music drifting from the truck's speakers. With intrigue masquerading as indifference, Pam watched as the ebony siren playfully serenaded her with a song she wasn't at all familiar with.

"What, don't tell me you don't like Donny?" Tara questioned before shifting her attention back to the road.

Greeted with silence in lieu of an answer, Tara turned to see Pam staring at her curiously, a warm glint in her wintry blue eyes.

"Who do you like?" Tara asked in a hushed voice, her tone probing and flirtatious all at once. "I won't tell," she promised sincerely.

A second passed before Tara's hand darted out to mute the music's volume and Pam was left feeling as though what she had to say next was of utmost importance.

"I've been known to enjoy a little Blondie," Pam confided in a dismissive manner.

"Oh yeah?" Tara asked with ill concealed delight and a pearly grin visible from space.

"Yeah," Pam affirmed drolly. Eyes rolling amiably, she turned to gaze out the window and caught sight of bright lights in the distance.

"Just about there," Tara assured, her eyes again glued to the road.

It was a matter of minutes before Pam found herself standing in a packed parking lot. It wasn't Super Save-a-Bunch, but it wasn't far off as far as Pam was concerned. Hand on hip once more, she shot Tara a look that said, 'you _cannot_ be serious'.

The sound and smell of swinging, whirling, twirling, and plummeting amusement park rides; bayou music, and hayseed humans of all ages was all around them.

"C'mon," Tara spoke as she took hold of Pam's hand and led them toward the Louisiana State Fair for an experience that was as foreign to Pam as the surface of mars.

"Behold, the unwashed asses," Pam quipped as she and Tara stepped through the entrance of the fair.

"Masses," Tara corrected.

"Same difference," Pam defended with a prim shrug.

Even casually dressed, Pam and Tara stood out like two sore thumbs. No human could tell they were vampires just by looking at them, but they were still two very attractive women, clearly from very different backgrounds, holding hands at a very country State Fair.

Tara, for her part, didn't seem to notice the attention. Either that or she didn't care enough to pay it any heed. She held Pam's hand as though it were the most natural thing in the world.

Pam, on the other hand, was still getting used to public displays of affection. Even as a human she'd never been one for handholding. In retrospect, she realized she'd never met anyone whose hand she wanted to hold.

Presently, Pam realized she like the feel of Tara's hand in hers. It was small but strong, soft yet hard. Pam thought it as lovely a dichotomy as Tara herself. As the blonde vamp was mentally extolling the virtues of her date's hands, a beer-bellied man in a tragically outdoorsy getup approached with a baby in his arm.

"Hey, there are families with children here," he declared with as much indignation as he could muster, making a show of gawking at Pam and Tara's clasped hands.

"Oh, _I know_, innit dreadful?" Pam responded without missing a beat, sounding very much like an outraged southern damsel as she looked distastefully at the man's infant.

With nothing left to say, Tara tossed the homophobe her best 'u mad' look and led her quick-witted companion away by the hand to check out the fair's attractions.

As they explored the carnival, Tara made a point of playing and winning every single rigged game the place had to offer. As a kid she would spend what little money she had on carnie games at the State Fair, only to leave empty-handed.

It was payback time.

Tara landed every shot at the 'Hoop Toss', shattered milk bottle after milk bottle on 'One Ball' and all its variations, punched the 'Electronic Punching Bag' so hard the machine fell over, and she literally demolished the 'High Striker'.

"I'll take that big ass pink bunny right there," Tara informed the carnie overseeing the 'Watergun' game way before the balloon popped and signaled her win. The short man regarded her with skepticism when the balloon did indeed pop; she hadn't even been looking as she shot.

Pam breathed a sigh as she was saddled with yet another giant stuffed animal. By now she had so many she couldn't hold them all. In her enthusiasm, Tara pressed on without her date, totally unaware that she'd overwhelmed her with prizes to carry.

"Tara," Pam called after the single-minded vampire, sounding mildly put upon as she stood flanked by at least a dozen large stuffed animals. "Little help," she implored as Tara finally turned to look back at her.

Suitably embarrassed by her thoughtlessness, Tara quickly began righting past wrongs by handing out the stuffed toys to every empty-handed kid who passed by.

"I'll, uh, keep this one," Pam promptly spoke up as Tara reached to grab the giant pink bunny in her hands and give it to a little girl. The tall vampire shrugged nonchalantly, in a transparent attempt to save face, as her date smirked at her.

After several hours of rides and games, Pam and Tara found themselves back in the now mostly emptied parking lot. Sitting in the bed of the beat up pickup truck with Pam's enormous stuffed pink bunny behind them, they idly watched a group of young people horse around by their parked cars.

"So," Tara began as she looked over at Pam, whose attention was now focused on their entwined hands. "Was it as a bad as you thought it'd be?"

She received her answer in the form of a slight chuckle and a faint headshake.

"We used to do that," Tara breathed, her face vaguely wistful as she looked out over at the young people across the lot. "Come out here an' fool around after everyone went home; make out, play music, dance…fuck."

"Sounds like fun," Pam remarked genuinely. The fucking part sounded fun anyway.

"Sometimes," Tara replied, in a way that suggested her mind was already a thousand miles away. "You don't find it weird?" she asked abruptly after several moments of silence. "We're like fuckin'…conjoined or some shit and we still don't really know each other. I mean…there's so much I still don't know about you."

"What do you want to know?" Pam lulled, meeting Tara's contemplative gaze.

"Everythang," Tara twanged intently, so intently that Pam couldn't help but smile.

"Where 're you from?" The young vampire's first question came swiftly.

"London," Pam replied quietly as she gazed at her increasingly enchanting date, who now seemed to be getting overwhelmed with all the questions she wanted to pose.

"What's your favorite blood type?" Tara probed.

Generally, Pam considered these kinds of questions about herself akin to an interrogation. But somehow she couldn't help but enjoy Tara's interest in her.

"B positive," Pam answered.

"Mine too," Tara supplied somewhat dreamily upon hearing that she and Pam shared the same taste, at least where blood was concerned.

Tilting Tara's head up toward hers, Pam eased the inquisitive vampire into an entrancing kiss that left her at a loss to think of anything else she wanted to ask.

"I know," Pam purred as she withdrew from Tara's honeyed lips

"Dance with me?" Tara asked suddenly, as if the idea had only just occurred to her.

It was a question Pam hadn't at all been expecting. She couldn't remember the last time anyone had the nerve to ask her to dance. Moreover, she couldn't remember a time when she would have even entertained such a request from anyone who did.

Before she had a chance to think of something sardonic to say, Tara had already made a round trip from the front of the truck to the back. With Donny Hathaway's rendition of "Song For You" now sounding softly from the truck's speakers, she stood in front of Pam with an outstretched hand.

"You can dance, can't you?" Tara teased as she watched Pam rise tentatively.

"Does the waltz count?" Pam countered. She wasn't entirely kidding.

Tara shook her head and swept the taller woman in by her petite waist.

"Just follow me," she directed, her expression growing solemn as she felt Pam's hands moving up her well-formed arms to rest on her tone shoulders.

From afar, the rowdy young loiterers watched as the two women slow danced. Before long, their howls, whistles, and catcalls rang out across the parking lot.

Tara lifted her right hand from Pam's lower back to flip the spectators the bird, only to have the other woman reclaim it, place it firmly on her ass and hold it there until she was certain it wouldn't stray. Soon, Tara's left hand ardently mimicked her right.

Reveling in the nearness of Tara, Pam felt her eyes close as if of their own volition.

Now she listened.

She listened as the voyeurs and nuisances of the world ceased to exist and words she'd previously ignored suddenly became imbued with wasn't familiar with the song at the start of the evening, but by the end of the evening she was certain she'd never forget it. As it ended, she opened her eyes to see Tara's deep dark eyes trained on her in a way that made her feel like melting.

"Well," Pam exhaled shakily, struggling to regain some semblance of composure. "It's too bad you're not the type of girl who puts out on the first date."

Tara snickered at the wisecrack before pulling her date into a long, sensual kiss that had the normally inscrutable vampire moaning into her mouth. There was no doubt. Pam was very much looking forward to their second date, and every one thereafter.


End file.
